#sherlock challenge

[smarthily]

For @sherlockchallenge​​ June prompt JOKE

[a-victorian-girl]

Well done, John! 🎉 @giftober 2024 | Day 9: "Numbers" @sherlockchallenge October prompt: "Number"

[starkraivennemad]

The Shadow Visit

The flat was dark when John Watson entered, cane in hand; the old aches had returned with a vengeance.  

The only light that filtered in the windows of Baker Street came from the streetlamps from the sidewalk. It was hardly enough to chase the shadows in the corners away.

Not that John needed to chase them. It may have been a few weeks since he last stepped into the flat, but John could walk every inch of it blindfolded in pitch blackness if he wanted, so attuned was he to every centimeter. Well, that’s if Sherlock did not have an experiment, books, or his transport spread out in the middle of the floor.

John gave a mournful sniff, knowing the chances of that happening again were nil.

The Christmas party really was not all that long ago, was it? John remembered when the room was filled with light, even when it was dark, but that was a different time, a time before the party was over. None of them knew that party was the zenith of things, did they?   

He plopped into what will always be his chair, the way it yielded to his weight as much a comfort to him as the emptiness of the black leather chair across from it a bane.

“Why am I here…?” he whispered, “Again?”

He did not plan to stay long, but he had to rest.

It was quiet for a long while before he spoke to the shadows again; his tired eyes desperately wanted to believe he might have seen movement, but he knew it was naught but a trick of the tears that welled in them and blurred his vision. He forced himself out of the chair only to find himself staring into the sightlessness of Billy the Skull.

“It was a party, Billy. Oh, don’t look at me like that! Wait, wait, wait… you didn’t even hear me out…”

John once scoffed, amused when Sherlock confessed that he often spoke to Billy when John was not there. Provided that Mrs. Hudson had not temporarily absconded with Billy in a fit of ire against the genius and the genius’ constant shenanigans.

Now John is the one who talked. John wished he had the excuse of being under the influence. Still, after so many weeks of wallowing in grief and self-pity of what once was, John was clear-eyed and far too sober, as he gave a sarcastic sniff at Billy’s presumed but understandable disbelief of John's claim of 221b’s party status.

“Okay, it was not always a party, not really, and it was not always fun, but God, it was not boring, was it, Billy? His brilliancy, his poshness, his tactlessness, his strops!” John quietly chuckled, then turned pensive, “But he was one of a kind. There was never anyone like him, and there won’t be again, so I guess the party’s over, Billy. The music, the excitement, the lights went out with him.  I don’t know what becomes of you, and I’m sorry, so sorry to leave you but… but I must… All these things in here, Billy, all this… Sherlock in here… and in here…” John pounded on his own chest.

He somehow wound up in the kitchen with all the things that should be there. Then he placed a hand on the fridge door, opened it, and immediately slammed it closed. Its shelves, devoid of experiments, gutted him. It just wasn’t right.

He slid to the floor and fell into the shadows there.

“It hurts. It hurt so much – too damned much. Too damned much to be here – too damned much…”

His head fell into his hands. And he sobbed hard.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry…! I’m sorry…!”

He sobbed hard as he had each time he returned to the flat.

And as with each other time, the tears eventually stop.

With joints not as young as they once were, John, more worn out than when he entered, could not use the cane. He made the short crawl to the table and pulled himself to standing – still far too hurt emotionally to pull himself up out of the morass of missing his former flatmate.

Bearing the unbearable, John picked up his cane and forced himself out of the flat, down the seventeen steps, and out of the building at last.

With a promise to himself that he would not return, John let the shadows of the London night swallow him as he departed.

It was a promise he already knew he would not keep.

===========================================

Read/Comment on AO3

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[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

The Key to His Heart

It is often said that the key to a man’s heart, goes through his stomach. Well, that doesn’t apply to the man who owns my heart, and vice versa. By all means, we do indulge in culinary treats. 

In our younger days, it was heaps of take-away; Indian, Chinese, Indonesian. Never Italian, though. Angelo would’ve been devastated if we sought out Italian food somewhere else.

And there were of course the sweets, to satisfy the madman I lived with. 

(Still lives with, to be clear.) 

Ginger nuts, jammy dodgers, scones, Mrs. Hudson’s home baked cakes and biscuits, tiramisu, chocolate mousse, and sticky toffee pudding.

But I’m rambling. My madman, the great Sherlock Holmes, still doesn’t eat the amount of food I would like him to. He still claims that it slows him down. Not that he has places to be nowadays. If you don’t count his beloved beehives that is.

I seem unable to keep my thoughts collected on one topic today. The thing I was going to tell you about, was how I, John Hamish Watson, was given the key to the detective’s heart.

Everyone thought we were a couple from the day I moved into Baker Street. Quite a lot of them took it as a personal insult, when we, well, mostly I, objected to the assumption.

“Not gay!” I shouted out to anyone who cared to listen.

Few did, but the one that mattered the most, always listened. It still hurts to think about. 

Sherlock is interested in all kinds of things, but the thing that has stuck with him since childhood, is the fascination for bees. I was stunned when he told me about it quite early in our acquaintanceship. Living in London assured that we didn’t come across them very often, unless we walked the parks. We mostly ran through the parks, always chasing the bad guys. That was a relief, because I was terrified of the tiny creatures. 

“How is that possible? You invaded Afghanistan,” Sherlock protested when I told him.

“Well, childhood trauma isn’t that easily forgotten, Sherlock,” I stated.

When I was eight years old, I was stung by dozens of bees. I had been fighting with Harry, and she pushed me against our uncle’s two beehives. The push was hard, and both hives fell to the ground. I can still recall the angry buzzing and the bees’ fierce attack. It was summer, and I was only wearing a pair of shorts… 

Enough about my childhood horrors. 

It took me too long to realise that I loved Sherlock. Even when he came back from the dead, I acted like I hadn’t grieved him like a lover.

Keep calm and carry on.

Sherlock’s sudden illness, which forced him to stay in bed for almost a fortnight, made us both come out of our shells. His high fever made him hallucinate, and he was quite talkative throughout. He pledged his love for me numerous times a day, mostly in his sleep, so I didn’t put much into the declarations. I worked it out in the end and did some pledging myself.

He wasn’t entirely convinced at first. The not gay statement still lingered in his mind, and he was reluctant to do more than occasionally holding my hand and hug me. So, I decided to convince him. I just had to get Harry on board. She was surprisingly amenable to my suggestion to buy her share of our uncle’s cottage, which we both had inherited some years previous. 

Sherlock didn’t know about it. I had almost forgotten about it myself by that time. 

The cottage was called “In the Meadows”, and the name fit perfectly. It was surrounded by them on three sides, and said meadows needed some taming. Nobody had lived there for at least three years. An old neighbour had kept an eye on it, though, so it wasn’t in total decay. It needed some loving hands, which I hoped Sherlock and I could provide.

I took him down to Sussex one sunny Saturday in May. The neighbour had assured me that beehives were in place, and the gear needed to tend to them.

“Happy belated birthday, Sherlock,” I said when we stood outside the house.

“What do you mean, John?” he asked, too stunned to deduce and observe properly.

“It’s for you. Or us, really,” I told him.

I was so anxious for his reaction.

The blinking came first. I had anticipated that. What came as a total surprise was the kiss once he had spotted the hives.

He turned to face me, cradled my face, and pressed his lips softly against mine. I almost stopped breathing but finally got my arms to work and circled them around his waist.

“My John. You…how…but you’re terrified of…” Sherlock stuttered after he broke the kiss.

“Well, I’ll just have to trust you to protect me for once, then,” I murmured, still dazed from the tender kiss.

“Do you really love me that much, John?” Sherlock inquired.

“More than anything,” I told him, which lead to further kisses.

If you wondered; yes, we’re both retired, and our address isn’t 221B Baker Street anymore, but “In the Meadows”, Sussex.

-------------------------------------------------------

This is also my entry to the Sherlock Challenge of July, prompt: key.

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[guardmesherlock-rowan]

January Prompt: Envelope

For @sherlockchallenge's January prompt

First the guys from Bakerstreet:

Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and George Lestrade under the cut

Sherlock Holmes

“Alright, MC” Sherlock leveled his gaze at them. “You have three envelopes before you, and you need to pick which one to decide what we will be doing tonight.”

Their eyes narrowed, “is that it?”

“Of course,” he smiled, “just pick one of the three.  Of course there are clues on the envelopes themselves as to what they are. So I would love to see you guess which one is which.”

“I see,” they looked over the envelopes carefully. All of them seemed similar to each other, though as they picked them up they could feel the different textures and weights.  They lifted the envelopes up towards the lights, but whatever was in them were wrapped in additional paper to obscure them from being read through the envelope.

“Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy.” Sherlock leaned back, smiling as he watched them examine the envelopes.

They lifted another up for closer inspection, looking along the seams when a peculiar smell wrinkled their nose.  They pulled back and looked up at Sherlock curiously. It smelled a little musty, like a zoo. They set it aside, certain that that was the answer.

Then they grabbed the second envelope and looked it over and during the search they found a faded indent on the corner of the paper, tilting it to make it easier to read, they saw ‘Wishmas’ Waterloo, exit 2. Their eyes narrowed as they wondered what that could mean, possibly a show?

Setting it down they reached for the final envelope but were surprised at how it felt gritty and lighter. They gently felt along the envelope and realized the paper folded inside was the only thing there. Either the item was written on that page or- closer examination of the envelope showed an imprint of a shoe on the envelope as if someone stepped on it, but it seemed to be centered perfectly on the envelope. They stole a glance up at Sherlock who seemed to have not moved an inch, but his piercing dark eyes seemed even more pleased as he knew what they had seen.

The odd thing about the imprint was that it was the shape of a high-heeled shoe. MC’s eyes drifted up towards the mantel and the pink shoe that sat there. “Very good.” Sherlock leaned forward. “Do you want to guess the first two and make your pick or…?”

“This one… is it for the zoo?” They held up the first envelope.

“It is, and the second?”

“Tickets for a show called ‘Wishmas’?” They sounded less sure of that one, but the grin on Sherlock’s face told them they were spot on.

“Do you want to choose between those two or would you like to see where this third one leads you?”

MC glanced at the shoe, curiosity prickling in their mind. “Since you went through all this trouble…” They stood up and Sherlock’s smile lit up with pride.

John Watson

MC flopped down on the bed in the hotel room. Their feet sore from that day’s work on set. Maybe they should talk with the costume department about the shoes they choose for that costume. At this rate, they would need to cover up the bruises and blisters for any future scene without their shoes. They wrinkled her nose and sighed.  They hadn’t realized they were nodding off until there was a knock at their door.

On the other side of the door was Diana holding out a cup of cinnamon hot chocolate and another postcard. “Are you sure that Doctor of yours doesn’t have a brother or…” The tall woman teased as she handed them over to MC.

“He has an older brother, but I haven’t met him yet.” They took the drink and the postcard to the sofa, curling up as they smiled down at the card.

“Well, tell that Doctor I want his brother’s contact information as soon as possible. He’s just so cute sending these to you.” Diana shut the door behind her, and smirked at MC as they read the postcard, a light pink hue growing on their cheeks.

‘To my MC, I hope you had a good day on set. I cannot wait to see you performing again. But, Sherlock is driving me crazy.  He has rearranged the sitting room in an attempt to recreate a layout from this crime scene the other day to show Lestrade how ridiculous he was being with believing the wife had done it. Though honestly the only one being ridiculous is Sherlock! Mikah keeps asking if I’ve heard back from you, and while I know we talk on the phone, I just cannot help wanting to write to you. Show you that even when we’re not talking, my thoughts are on you and the peace you bring into my life. If you ever get lonely when you’re working you can hold onto my postcards, or send me a text. Just know, even though you’re the one away from here, I am feeling homesick.  All my love, John.’

George Lestrade

“I’m sorry, MC, I’m really, really, sorry.” George couldn’t meet their gaze as he scuffed his shoe along the floor. “I was really looking forward to being with you tonight, but-”

“Well, you go out there and you tell those criminals that they messed with the wrong inspector.” MC stepped close, gently touching his cheeks and turning his attention back to them.

As he smiled they could see him relax and lean into the touch. “You bet I will, but try to have a good night without me. Okay?” He leaned forward and kissed their forehead, as he pulled back they could see the blush on his cheek.  He turned to leave but quickly pivoted back to them, “but not too good, okay? I mean.. of course, have a good night, but not too good as if you don’t miss me or forget about me, which isn’t to say I’m more important than you having a good night but I just-”

“I’ll be taking it easy tonight, but if you can hurry back home I’ll be looking forward to watching our show together. Maybe you can grab some takeaway on your way home?”

“It might be a busy night…” he frowned.

“Maybe, but when these criminals face off against the Inspector Lestrade?”

His lip twitched with a smile, and then he pulled MC in for a tight hug. “Promise you’ll really take it easy tonight?”

“Agreed.” They promised. George gave them a quick kiss and stepped out the door, only to reopen it again and steal 3 more kisses, each one longer than the last. Then finally, as his phone started to ring, he hurried down the street.

Once he was out of the house, MC started to look around, wondering how to spend their night. They wandered into the bedroom, noting how messy it was, and decided to tidy up and were surprised to find an envelope hidden between their bed and George’s nightstand. They thought that maybe it had slipped down there by accident. But when they pulled it out their eyes were wide as they saw their name written across the top of the envelope. Inside they pulled out several sheets of paper, each of them with some words scratched out, a few of them crumbled up, but most of them said the same things:

‘To the most wonderful, best, darling, beautiful, handsome, loving person I have ever known.  Your support means more to me than I can ever express. The way you believe in me when everything else seems to fall apart, the way you are there for me when I get down on myself. You make me believe I can be a better person, not just a better inspector. I forget my worries when I hear your laugh, I want to protect your smile against everything.  The way you light up my life when you’re excited over a new project. I cannot wait for those days I get to see you on the screen or stage, because of how electric you are when you’re living your dreams. And-‘

Then it trails off, and MC smiles seeing the effort and love that George put into these letters he did not mean for them to see.

Their phone chimes as they receive a message from George, ‘made it safe to work, I love you!’

‘I love you too.’

Note: I have decided going forward that Simon would be going with a new preferred name 'Diana'.

[topsyturvy-turtely]

AHHHHHHHHH THIS SOUNDS LIKE THE PERFECT DAY FOR REAAAAAAL

April Fools

The last day of March came and went, as usual, with no acknowledgement of John’s birthday.  And then the murders began.

John was awakened on the first of April by the sound of Sherlock’s feet pounding up the stairs, soon followed by the sound of Sherlock’s fist pounding on his door.

“Triple homicide, John!  Get dressed!”

“Do I have time for a shower?”

“Yes, but make it fast.  We have a train to catch.”

“Where to?”

“Brighton — I’ll explain on the way.”

Read the rest of April Fools on AO3, or below the cut.

Keep reading

[rknchan]

a redraw of THIS legendary illustration

bonus!

[smarthily]

@sherlockchallenge October prompt NUMBER

@giftober 2024 Day 31: Free Choice.

[ohrival1412]

"Shinichi and Hakuba after their Sherlock Holmes fanfictions are discovered" tHANKS FOR YOUR REQUEST HAHAH

@zaharex here are Hakuba E-8 and Shinichi G-8 !

[a-victorian-girl]

The last two...

“Game” for @sherlockchallenge

[starkraivennemad]

The Weight of Things

Mycroft Holmes played the heavy, the cold man-

He knew the reason some call him Iceman was earned. There are documents which will never see the light of day until his bones have long turned to dust before others will know of the actions of the person codenamed Antarctica. The mega-genius was calculating, and exacting; willing to make, and execute, the hard decisions.

Mycroft played the heavy, the manipulating man-

Once he was able to prove he was of better service in the office, than in the field, he eschewed all outward appearances of ever having done so. He worked hard at his perfectly curated his sharply honed brain over blunt instrument brawn image.

Played the heavy, the secretive man-

He kept the secrets of Crown and Country.

He kept the family secrets, knowing them for the ticking bombs they were.

Not telling his parents believe his sister was alive.  

Letting John believe the man he loved was dead.

Mycroft bore the weight of the damage that should not have been his to take on when time ran out.

For when they inevitably blew? It was bad.

The heavy, the bad man-

It came with a price…

While Mycroft honestly enjoyed the work, it cost him the trust of people in general and his personal happiness overall and a life of isolation.

He told himself it was a minor thing. That it was the balance needed in the scale of things. And for far too many years he not only believed it, but willingly paid it.

But then the scales tipped.

They tipped with a weight Mycroft never imagined bearing.

They tipped with a weight that could not be seen, heard, smelled, tasted or touched.

Except in his heart.

Tipped by the all-encompassing weight called love in the form of one Gregory Lestrade.  

The oh so heavy weight that lightened everything else around him.

And once tipped, it outweighed everything else.

Make no bones about it, Mycroft Holmes is who he is– cold, manipulating, secretive, the heavy the bad man.

But it’s the heavy weight of Greg’s love that lightens his heart to also make Mycroft Holmes-Lestrade a good man.

Read on AO3

For @sherlockchallenge​​ April prompt HEAVY

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

When Words Aren’t Enough

“There are no such things as stupid questions, only stupid answers,” Sherlock tells Rosie.

“Since when?” John wants to know. “That’s not what you usually say.”

“Well, I obviously meant from our daughter, John. Do keep up!”

The great detective winks at nine-year-old Rosie Watson-Holmes, who’s seated by the kitchen table at Sherlock’s parents.

“Ok. Names and flowers,” the little girl starts. “I have a flower name, just like Granny and my teacher, Lily. I know that boys also can have them, but that’s not common, right? Why?”

She looks expectantly at her Papa, who ponders the questions. Sherlock takes everything Rosie says seriously, and John is still astonished by how patient he is with her.

“That is correct, bumble. It probably has to do with something absurd, like that a flower related name isn’t masculine enough. And most of such names are more related to plants, herbs, and trees than actual flowers. The infamous Narcissus is the only one with a flower name that springs to mind at the moment.”

“I have another question related to flowers too,” Rosie says, having evidently binned the thought of male and female names for now.

“Let’s hear it,” Sherlock coaxes when his parents enter the kitchen from different directions.

Sherlock’s mother comes through the door from the living room, while Sherlock’s father enters from the garden. The latter is cradling a bouquet of violets in his hand, which he hands over to his wife. Violet Holmes looks at her husband with starry eyes and kisses him briefly on the lips.

“Thank you, my love,” she whispers and turns to find a vase to arrange the flowers.

Walter just turns and walks towards the garden door again, and is gone the next second. Before Violet places the vase on the table, she buries her nose in the flowers and inhales deeply.

“He still does that,” Sherlock murmurs, sounding a bit bewildered.

Violet hums in agreement.

“You know he’s not as good with words as you and me, Sherlock. So, when words aren’t enough, or fail him, this is his way of communicating his feelings. It’s quite wonderful,” she says dreamily and starts to make tea.

“That was what I wanted to ask about,” Rosie whispers.

She seems a bit taken aback by the loving encounter. Not that she’s unused to affection between adults. It’s been years since Sherlock and John were embarrassed to kiss in front of Rosie, but her grandparents doing the same thing, seems to have put her off kilter.

“What was?” John prompts when Rosie isn’t forthcoming with her question.

“Oh…um…flowers. I mean, there’s something called the language of flowers, yes?”

“Indeed!” Sherlock beams. “Let’s investigate that. It might come in handy in my work as well.

John shakes his head when the two curly heads lean over John’s laptop to read about roses, violets, daisies, tulips, gardenias, carnations, and zinnias.

***

Some weeks later, John comes home from work and finds an absurdly grand bouquet of flowers on the kitchen table. Rosie and Sherlock are in the park, so John has the flat to himself for a while. He looks for a card and finds one stuck between two green carnations.

My dearest, John

Words can’t describe what I feel for you, so I have turned to nature for guidance. A thousand kisses if you can decipher the meaning behind every flower.

Yours forever. Sherlock

The card quivers minutely in John’s hand and his eyes fill with tears. He indulges in the sentimentality that fills his body for a few minutes before he hastily retrieves his laptop from the coffee table. There’s no way of knowing how long it’ll be before Sherlock and Rosie return, and John is rather keen on getting the promised number of kisses from his husband.

It doesn’t take as long as he thought to gather the evidence and what John finds make his heart ache with longing and love for the remarkable man that has chosen him as a life companion.

He doesn’t even have to check what the green carnations mean. They are a symbol of homosexuality, closely associated with Oscar Wilde.

Then there are:

Honeysuckle – Bonds of love

Yellow lily – Happy

Myrtle – Love in a marriage

Sunflower(dwarf) – Adoration

Red tulip – Passion

Daisy – Loyal love

White camelia – You’re adorable

Red rose – I love you

Blue salvia – I think of you

Violet – Faithfulness

To John’s glee, Rosie stops at Mrs Hudson when they come home, and John gets to enjoy his prize, willingly delivered by his soppy romantic of a husband.

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This is also my entry to this month's Sherlock Challenge and the prompt language.

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[trinabreakingdown]

little sneak peak of what’s coming up

bot drop coming next satuday I think!!

[elennemigo]

SHERLOCK HOLMES in every episode. (2/13)

BBC Sherlock • The Blind Banker (s01e02). Air date: August 1st, 2010 (UK).

(Correction: I put the wrong air date. Fixed it now. Sorry! 😳)

[iamaya03]

bots !!

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𝐩𝐣𝐨/𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐬 ｡𖦹° percy jackson - knight in shining armour

𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 ｡𖦹°

𝐌𝐂𝐔 ｡𖦹° peter parker - domesticity

𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 ｡𖦹° remus lupin - healing james potter - rookie

𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 ｡𖦹°

𝐁𝐁𝐂 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 ｡𖦹°

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐞 ｡𖦹°

𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 ｡𖦹°

𝐌𝐢𝐒𝐜𝐄𝐥𝐋𝐚𝐍𝐞𝐎𝐮𝐒 ｡𖦹° james mooney - in love with a criminal

𝐜.𝐚𝐢 𝐜.𝐚𝐢 𝐛𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

[smarthily]

– Mark Gatiss about Molly in "Sherlock Uncovered: The Women"

For @sherlockchallenge​​ July prompt KEY